


Font of Inspiration

by zarinthel



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Thancred's Cringe Compilation... part 2!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22842238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarinthel/pseuds/zarinthel
Summary: Falling in love so hard you trip over your own feet.. it's not easy, but Thancred's always been a matyr for the cause.
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	Font of Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> this work stars my wol, Valerian Caligorne! He's a duskwight elezen, blm main during arr. This covers the patches between 2.0 and Hvw, whereas my other work, Bardic Inspiration, covered the arr main story. You don't need to read that to read this, but its cute.

When the ship that Valerian had sailed away on to face Leviathan comes back, it’s easier to say it limps rather than sails into the harbour. The wood is cracked along the hull, and battered everywhere. Seaweed drags along the deck and snags on the planks, as if everything aboard has been drowned in its entirety during the course of the fight. 

In a word, it looks like hell. 

Thancred jolts as he heard the gangplank lower, and his eyes widen. 

Valerian is soaking wet. His long hair drapes in tangled lines in front of his face, dripping sea water down behind him as he gives his head a shake. The black robe he wears itself looks ruined, long gashes cutting the fabric open in rents from chest to hip. His one hand not keeping hold of his staff brushes up, dragging his hair away from his face as his eyes scan the docks, before halting as they lock on to Thancred. 

He paces closer, his slow, weighted steps still rolling with the waves until he’s directly in front of Thancred, close enough to smell like blood and brine and crackling ozone. 

“Hello there,” he says, the mild tones completely overwhelmed by the hoarse rasp of someone who’s been alternating between chanting and unwillingly swallowing sea water for hours. “Got a change of clothes for me, Thancred?” 

Thancred swallows so hard he nearly chokes on his own saliva.

* * *

Buscarron looks up from cleaning the irreversibly stained wood of his bar to give Thancred a cheerful wave. 

“Brought the boyfriend, Val?”

Or rather, give Valerian a cheerful wave. 

“Hi, Buscarron,” Valerian says back, slinging a hand over Thancred’s shoulder. “Yeah, this is Thancred!” 

“We’ve met,” Thancred says. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you’ve been to the Shroud. That’s great.” Valerian pulls him towards the bar until they both have a seat. Buscarron doesn’t even ask Valerian what he wants, just pushing a thick golden liquid poured straight to the brim of a glass in his direction. 

“On the house,” Buscarron says, voicing a warning that Thancred has heard pretty consistently since he and Val started going out to bars together. Valerian will tip later anyway, when he’s drunk enough to be able to claim he forgot. 

“And for you, friend?” Buscarron looks at him, smiling a little. He’s perhaps the most welcoming Shroud resident Thancred has ever met. 

“What’s the strongest you got?” Thancred challenges. 

He hears a small puff of what could be laughter from Valerian. 

“Heh...I can share my favorite,” Buscarron also says, the laugh lines in his eyes deepening as his own face splits into a grin. He goes and drags a jar out from underneath the bar, and pours some of it out. 

The smell hits Thancred first, and it’s enough to make a lesser man cry. 

“First one’s free,” Buscarron says, and sets it gently in front of him. Behind Thancred’s back, the whispers of the other tables slowly cut out, and he feels interested stares start to burn into his back. 

That’s a warning sign if Thancred’s ever heard one, but hell if he’s going to back down in front of Valerian. And the gossip vine of the entirety of South Shroud. 

Closing his eyes, he grabs the drink, and chugs it. 

Thancred has made many mistakes in his life. 

Almost none of them have made him regret being alive as much as this one. 

“Thancred? Are you okay?” 

It feels like he’s crying liquid fire out of his tear ducts. His tongue has revolted against him, and he keeps making soft, agonized gagging noises while his throat tries to escape his body through his lungs. 

“That was qiririn firewater, Thal’s halls, Thancred. Let me--” 

Valerian’s healing is it’s own experience. The lightning shock of pure aether getting dumped directly into his system hits him from a completely different direction than the drink, his thief’s training the only thing stopping him from toppling straight off the bar stool. 

He chokes a little more before he manages to get a word out.  
“I’m....fine....” 

Though he thinks Valerian could leave his hand on his shoulder. For balancing purposes. 

Sadly, it’s not to be. Valerian returns to quietly sipping his drink, a small smile slowly becoming visible to Thancred as his vision clears. His throat still feels scorched, like he’d just swallowed a goblin's bomb. 

“That’s pretty impressive, lad,” Buscarron says. “Most people without a taste for it just throw the whole mug back up.” 

Thancred’s stomach lurches threateningly. 

“Shut up, please.” He’s going for bland-but-threatening, and ending up somewhere in the pleading-child range. Unfortunate. 

“I’ve never seen someone chug firewater before,” Valerian says. “Wow.” There’s no particular inflection in his voice, just a statement. 

“I wonder why,” Thancred says flatly. 

“Probably because of what goes into it before it gets fermented,” Valerian answers. “I helped make some for the bar once, if you want the recipe.” 

...

Thancred puts both hands over his mouth, forcefully ignoring his own gag reflex.

“No, Valerian. Thank you, but that _won’t_ be necessary.”

* * *

“I once picked up a bit of goldsmithing,” Valerian says, hands tucked into his pockets as they stroll through Revenant’s Toll. “Ended up getting too busy to keep up with it before I could get any better than really basic bits of jewelry, though.” 

Thancred’s never had any trade other than of rogue and secret gatherer. 

“Minfillia used to be a miner,” he offers, lacking any other way to connect to the subject. “F'lhaminn taught her.” 

“That’s really impressive,” Valerian says, his hands brushing against Thancred’s as they walk. “Tataru tried out mining for a bit, and I was terrified. She doesn’t have the-- the best situational awareness.”  
Thancred doesn’t think there’s any path in life Minfillia could have chosen that wouldn’t have terrified him. 

“I helped teach her to sneak around,” he says, impulsively. “Minfilia. So she’d have a better go at it.” 

“That’s sweet,” Valerian smiles, bumping his shoulder into Thancred for a small press. “I bet that made her happy.” 

He doubts it, but hopes Valerian is right anyway. 

“I could... try to teach you...?” He knows it’s dumb before he finishes the sentence. Unlike him, or even Minfilia, none of Valerian’s skillsets are remotely suited to attack from ambush-- a black mage’s only safety is in the number of allies between them and whoever their attacking. Which, in Valerian’s case, often means no safety at all. 

“I could kiss you for that,” Valerian says, but he doesn’t. 

“I know you don’t need it,” Thancred says. 

“It would be nice,” Valerian says. “I’d just feel bad.” 

“For me?”

“For the primals. Seeing me is the only warning they get, you know.” 

Valerian flashes a smile at him. 

“You already get to see me all the time. It’s not the same.” 

Thancred stares back at him, forgetting to keep walking. 

No.. it’s really not the same at all.

* * *

“Looking forward to the banquet, Thancred?” 

Valerian leans against the doorframe of Thancred’s quarters within the Rising Stones, arms crossed in an affectation Thancred’s pretty sure he’s at fault for. 

“I spent many years in Ul’dah,” Thancred says, moving closer to Valerian. “It’s a joy to be able to return to that jewel of the desert.” He grabs ahold of Valerian’s hand, dipping down to kiss the red ring on his finger in an echo of the way he’d greet the Sultana. “Though I fear even that jewel pales to the one right in front of me.” 

“It’s a fragment of Dalamud, not a jewel.” Valerian’s hand cups Thancred’s cheek, leaving him with no thoughts to attempt to clarify the jewel of which he spoke. “I never get to see you dress up. I’m excited.” 

Thancred had been intending to not dress up at all, in order to blend in better with the background and be able to escape to a hidden balcony as soon as feasible. However--

“You’re dressing up for it then, Val?” 

Valerian nods, before tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling. 

“Mmhm. I want to enjoy it. I’ve got a bad feeling-- think that we’re about to have another big problem on our hands sooner rather than later. Want to have fun while it lasts.” 

Valerian’s perspective on life is so jarring. He puts up a front of being tireless, endless in his duty and his optimism, but behind that is-- Something quieter, something more resigned. He’s been speaking more, lately, to people beyond just the Scions. 

Thancred hopes it’s a good sign. 

“I know a very quiet place right off the banquet area,” Thancred offers, mouth moving in front of his mind. “It’ll be hard to sneak away since you’re the star of the show, but...” 

A slow smile banishes the worry from Valerian’s face. 

“I’d like that. You have the best ideas, Thancred.” 

Now there’s a blatant lie. 

“Only when it comes to you,” Thancred says, looking up at Valerian. 

If he’s had one good idea in his life, then admittedly this one was a lucky windfall. He should never go gambling again.

* * *

“--And this is G’raha Tia, over from the digsite.” 

Valerian waves his hand, casually introducing some of his new coworkers that have been working on the mysteries of the Crystal Tower to any and all of the people loitering in the Rising Stone’s common area. 

Thancred blinks, looking over from his spot at their own bar, then lifts a hand. He hasn’t seen the miqo’te since Sharlayan. 

“Hi Thancred! Everyone, this is Thancred.” Valerian strides over to where Thancred is, dismissing his very casual introduction as the end of whatever tour he’d been asked to do. Only G’raha follows Valerian over, either unaware or indifferent to Valerian’s cues. 

Next to Thancred, G’raha had been short. Next to Valerian, he looks tiny. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says to Thancred, twitching tail giving away that he’s also aware that he’s pushing past the comfort zone of acquaintances. “Thancred Waters, right?” 

Thancred nods, playing along. 

“G’raha Tia. You’re working with Val on the Tower project?”

“I-- I mean _we_ call it NOAH. Yes, with the valiant warrior of light leading the charge, it feels like all of the secrets of Allag are within our grasp!” 

“Yeah? You’re having fun, Val?” 

Valerian nods, making a slight hum. 

“There was an entire flood of lava,” G’raha gushes, clearly eager to simply tell someone who didn’t already know about the exploration. “Dragons, kept alive through some kind of necromancy. Exploding napalm bombs--” 

“That sounds fascinating,” says Thancred, cutting him off. He sees G’raha’s ears flatten, and hastily adds, “The ancient Allagans could make napalm?” 

G’raha immediately brightens back up, and moves to talking about the Allagan inventions of many different types of volatile explosives. Thancreds eyes drift to Valerian, locking eyes with him over the head of the talkative miqo’te. They both smile at each other, and Thancred instantly forgives G’raha Tia for any amount of sins.

* * *

Valerian stares down at the exit to the Sil’Dah Aqueducts, face unreadable. 

“We have to go, Valerian,” Alphinaud almost begs, tugging at his arm. “There’s nothing there. We have to--” 

Valerian pulls his arm free, letting it hang loose by his side. 

“It’s okay,” he says, calm. “If they make it this far, I’ll kill them.”

* * *

“Do you have any scars, Thancred?” Valerian’s eyes are closed as he rests his head on Thancred’s shoulder, the orange crystal of the Burning Wall spread out above and beneath them. “I haven’t noticed any, but I do tend to get distracted when you take your shirt off.” 

Valerian does a lot for his ego. 

“All my scars are safely on the inside, Val,” Thancred says, cheerful. “I’ve always thought they’d make great material for stories, thought.” 

“Really? All of my stories are the same, though. Stood too close to the fire.” 

“I think that’s more in the telling than in the fable, Valerian.” 

“Hm... well, I’m glad you’ve avoided at least some of the blows aimed your way, then.” Valerian decides. “Though I’m sure you’d make a great story of it.... You could make up some stories for mine.” 

That’s a lot of power. 

But even as silly ideas rush through his mind, he doesn’t want to voice them. 

“I think you look pretty dashing with the scars you currently have,” Thancred says, running a thumb over the fire and ice explosion patterns that cover Val’s hands. “Maybe I’ll give each of them a kiss, to apologize for lacking the imagination for a propers story.” 

“That could be fun,” Valerian says, voice slow and dreamy. “Thancred?”

“Yes?” 

“I love you, you know.” 

He--

Valerian presses a finger to his lips. 

“You can take a lifetime to answer, Thancred. It’s fine.” 

It’s not fine.

He kisses Valerian, drinking the words from his throat. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, though that’s not what he wants to say at all.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment, i love hearing back :)


End file.
